Snow
by AngelOfTheMoor
Summary: An introspective piece from Orrock's point of view. Orrock reflects upon his time spent on the "Hotspur."


_**Disclaimer:**_ None of these characters belong to me, and I'm not making any sort of profit off of this piece.

_**Author's Note**_: This is just something random I came up with when I was watching _Duty _and Orrock commented upon the beauty of the snow. It's a bit rough, but it helped me get the creative juices flowing again. I use dashes at various points, and they don't show up very well when this is formatted, so please pardon that. Also, please leave a review and let me know what you think!

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_**Snow**_

Orrock stands on deck, staring at the whirling waters of the deep blue sea.

They had dropped off that American woman--he believes her name is Betsy--at a ship belonging to her fellow countrymen a few hours ago.

And Doughty had escaped as well.

Good. He thinks that's good. Ever since that time when Doughty had accidentally elbowed him--his nose was still sore from it--he'd felt intensely guilty. After all, it wasn't as if Doughty had _meant _to strike him. But he couldn't have refrained from reporting Doughty. A good chunk of the crew had seen it happen.

And it's returned--the snow. Light at first, but it has become steadily heavier.

He is entranced by the spectacle of the snow.--It falls gracefully; it forms a misty wall against the backdrop of the gray sky. And when it touches the sea, something intriguing happens at that moment--but he can't quite place what exactly it is. Perhaps it's the fact that two polarizing forces collide in one instant.

Snow is no good for those sailing a ship--he'd learned that earlier, while they were near France, when they'd encountered Wolfe for the last time.

But he still finds it mesmerizing, despite that.

It mirrors his thoughts--mirrors his soul.

Orrock can't help but think of Jack--Jack Hammond. Most of the crew had long forgotten him, but not he.

It was lonely being the sole midshipman on the _Hotspur_. And though Jack had initially been an annoyance, his presence had alleviated some of that loneliness.

The rest of the crew had teased Jack, made fun of him behind his back. And he'd laughed along with them quietly, much to his secret shame, though at the time he didn't understand why he felt so much shame. For Jack Hammond was everything he despised--a young, incompetent snot who'd gotten his position because of his connections.

Orrock had worked hard for his position, and others should have to do the same.

But Jack endeared himself to Orrock somehow, though he couldn't quite place when he'd begun to like Jack. Perhaps it was because Jack was so earnest, because Jack tried so hard to get everything right. He'd seen Jack quiver in nervousness at every little mistake. He'd seen Jack's shame when he proved inadequate for the task at hand. And he'd identified with that shame. To him, it was a mark of one's inherent honorable nature.

Jack cried at night because he felt so alone. But silently, so that his bunkmate wouldn't hear him.

But Orrock noticed. And it touched something in his heart.

He appointed himself the guardian and mentor of Jack Hammond. He assisted Jack with learning the semaphore codes, with how to use a gun, with learning how to efficiently and expertly complete each task.

And soon the two of them became friends. There was real warmth to Jack's smile when he met with Orrock--and Orrock returned the smile in kind. Orrock saw Jack's developing affection for him in his eyes, everyday. At first, it made him shy and uneasy, but Orrock soon found himself involuntarily returning that affection.

And he had been so proud when Jack shot that French soldier! But then Jack's end came, and all too soon, much to Orrock's despair.

And he feels guilty for that, too. If he hadn't shouted encouragement at Jack, Jack wouldn't have been distracted. Then Jack would still be alive today. With him.

And he wouldn't be alone on the _Hotspur_.

Everyday Orrock feels a sense of alienation, feels a spreading gulf between himself and the rest of the crew. He tries so hard to get everyone to notice him, to like him, but they only ignore him.

He continues to gaze at the snow, transfixed. The snow is apropos of his mood. He feels connected to it, somehow.

"Mr. Orrock," a voice intones from behind, startling him out of his thoughts.

Orrock turns around hastily and salutes the lieutenant in front of him. "Sir," he breathes.

"At ease, man," Lieutenant Bush tells him. Orrock obeys. To him, Bush's pale blue eyes are as cold as ever, his face as tense as ever.

"How are you this day, Mr. Orrock?" Lieutenant Bush asks him.

"Not so well, sir," Orrock replies before he thinks. Oh, of the most idiotic, imbecilic things to say! One should never tell a superior officer such a thing. A smile, nod, and "well, sir," always suffices. Orrock is proud of the fact that he is the model of propriety, and this mistake wounds him.

Bush raises his eyebrows. "What's the matter, Mr. Orrock?"

"Nothing, sir," Orrock responds, turning his eyes back to the snow falling on the sea.

"It's so cold I almost wonder if we've landed in the Arctic," Bush jokes feebly as he joins Orrock at the railing. "The snow has come back with a vengeance."

"Aye, sir."

Bush directs his eyes at Orrock's face, studying it too intently for his comfort. "Tell me, Mr. Orrock, what is the matter?"

He most definitely does not want to answer Bush's query. He's not sure if he can answer it even if he wants to. So, he attempts to change the subject, but he executes this maneuver awkwardly. "The snow is very pretty," he comments.

Bush nods. "Pretty, but not much else." He pauses. "But that is irrelevant. Now, Mr. Orrock, tell me what is bothering you."

Tears come to Orrock's eyes unbidden. "I do not know, sir."

"I think I know exactly what it is," Bush says, placing a hand on Orrock's shoulder comfortingly. "It's the life of a naval officer, the loss."

Orrock jerks away from Bush, then wonders if the lieutenant will find him disrespectful for doing so. But he cannot control his indignation. He has been so calm the whole time, since Jack's death--but now raw emotion rises to the surface. "I am perfectly capable of fulfilling my responsibilities, sir," he replies hotly. "It is my duty to fight for king and country, and I am proud of it." He pauses and glances at the ground in embarrassment. "I beg your forgiveness, sir."

"None is needed, Mr. Orrock. I understand you perfectly."

"Sir?"

"You will find a friend in me, Mr. Orrock, if you desire it," Bush explains as he gazes into Orrock's eyes. "If you ever feel the need to talk about anything, I will listen."

"Sir?" Orrock is puzzled.

"I mean it, Mr. Orrock," Bush utters as he moves to leave. And then Orrock sees it in him, too--the loneliness. Orrock is shocked to discover it, for he knows that Lieutenant Bush and the captain are close friends. Could it be that the captain does not understand him?

_Lieutenant Bush desires another friend, and he offers himself to _me, Orrock muses.

Orrock fixes his eyes on the snow once more. _I suppose that there is something of the snow in all of us_, he marvels.


End file.
